Between Ledges and Holes 

I used to love “Alice in Wonderland” tumbling down a never-ending rabbit hole to become teeny tiny or humongous.  

In reality, falling down never-ending holes is a nightmare I would soon like to wake from.  

Sometimes, my bed swallows me whole, a giant, powdery “eat me” pill. Others, I am spit up with the sun like sunflower seeds to face the feelings I want to sleep away.  

So, I walk into the sun blinded and the warmth reminds me of napping in the uncomplicated heat, feral joy. 

I am brought back to the happiest I have been — when the sun warms my skin. We were soaking up the passing sun in the empty ranches of Wyoming’s winding creeks and brush, hiding from imaginary snakes and finding the cold water we gasped emerging from, only to do it again out of necessity. I remember the sun setting on us retreating from our ledges. I remember laughing. The water has never been so cold.  

The memories come in flashes that are hard to hold onto when the calendar keeps itself busy, but I’ll find my happiest days with the ones I love in the sun.  

I cry when I am alone on the trail now. There is no one around to share the sun with today. I let the sliding tears wave down like slipping boulders, but I’ll suck them up when someone comes up on ahead. We are all familiar with my stubbornness.  

I feel lost, so I take hikes I have already done to feel found. I find familiarity.  

My siblings tell me,” Your greatest flaw is your fear of change” and I cry myself to sleep for a week after that.  

 I am walking circles around my grief, stop upon seeing a big male deer. I get closer, knowing he’ll leave when I do. We both clock each other and freeze. Some humans pass unaware, but the deer knows us all. He has adapted, responded to the human presence. He watches me, heads back down cautiously to eat, then jerks up to watch me again. How much is out of fear?  

All of it.  

I don’t believe in signs often, but he feels like one, coming alive when someone laugh in the distance. Runs away, hidden between the narrow paths, and I am thinking of colonialism, of swallowing the land and resources.  

Where is your place? I think of my grandma whipping out her silky accordion to sing, “This land is your land; this land is our land.”  

I think of Alice falling down her holes, endless tumbles that feel like reminders of a million bad decisions, how she crawls back out alive and well, but could never be unaffected.  

I can see the deer, know we both feel the sun on our faces too.  

Only, I am a guest here. No, I am an intruder. He is home. Only, I am not a sign to him. No, I am an outsider.  

He runs. The sun stays with him. Perception is everything.  

I leave and crawl out the hole. These walks never leave me unaffected. Even so, I run from the shadows on my walks still, where the cold leeches, and seek the patches of sun to stay warm, grounded. That familiarity, I’ll hold onto.  

~KJ

This piece is my original work. Please do not copy or reproduce it without my permission.~